CHAPTER TEN
"Ah. Here we are."
"Where?" Jane shouted.
"There's a cave up ahead—maybe fifty paces away, slightly off to the right side of the path."
"Fifty tall-god paces or fifty tiny-midget-human paces?"
Loki bit back the sarcastic reply on his tongue. "Just follow me," he said. He began to walk faster as he approached the mouth of the cave, wading through the thicker snow fallen from the overhang.
"How did pirates do it without Google Maps? 'Fifty paces…' Seriously."
Loki ignored her rambling and chose to devote his energies to climbing up the hill to the cave. When he reached the crest, he looked around. The hill's height would have provided them with an excellent vantage point but for the incessant snowfall. As it was, even he with his above-average senses could scarcely see more than a stone's throw from the mouth of the cave.
He paused. A stone's throw? Darcy had a point; Asgardian measurements were somewhat unreliable. Damn. He hated being bested by mortals.
He glanced around as he entered the cave, scanning it for hazards or alternate points of entry. There were none that he could see—then again, that was not saying very much. The cavern was huge. He estimated that it could comfortably house twelve Asgardian warriors without crowding.
Jane, seconds behind him, set her bag down with an audible thump. The noise bounced around in the air for several seconds, finally falling silent somewhere in a deeper part of the cavern that lay invisible in the shadows.
"Big cave," she said flatly. "I wonder what formed it."
"Are there bears on Jotunheim? Because I'm getting a bear-cave vibe from this place."
"Huge bears," Loki said solemnly. "Frost giant bears."
"With laser eyes?"
She had called his bluff. He smiled crookedly. "Yes, something like that."
"Will you two quit talking about hypothetical bears and help me set up?"
"Right," Loki said, privately glad for the distraction. He enjoyed teasing Darcy far more than he should. He was paying entirely too much attention to the girl.
"What is there to set up?" Darcy asked. "It's not like we have tents or anything."
"We need water and a fire to cook. I'll set up the wood. Loki can start the fire. Here." Jane handed her a small metal pot. "You can fetch some snow. It's water-based, so we can melt it and use it normally."
"From outside?"
"That's where most of the snow is," Jane said.
"It's cold!"
"Do you want food or not?" Jane asked exasperatedly.
Darcy fake-pouted, sighing. "Fine." And she stomped out of the cave, partly to loose the ice clinging to her boots, but mostly (Loki imagined) for dramatic impact.
Loki eyed Jane warily as she arranged the wood into a fireworthy shape. "You two will have to cook. I'm unfamiliar with your dried food."
"That'll be Darcy's job," Jane said. "She's the queen of ramen."
Loki stared at her blankly.
"Ramen," she repeated. "You know: noodles?" She gestured, gaping at him. "Strings of starch soaked in water. You mean you don't even have pasta on Asgard?"
"Apparently not." He flicked his fingers at the makeshift hearth. On cue, flames burst into life, consuming the wood. He picked up a package of the dried 'noodles'—he assumed that's what they were—gingerly with the tips of his fingers. He wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure this is edible?"
"I'm not fond of it," she conceded. "But it's fit for human consumption. And, presumably, god consumption."
Loki grimaced, setting the package back down on the floor. "I certainly hope you mortals know what you're talking about."
Loki got through the meal without gagging or choking on the food. Actually—though he would never admit it to the mortals—he found it more than tolerable as far as travel food went.
At the very least, it provided much-needed sustenance for the trio, and Loki was begrudgingly thankful for that.
Jane stretched her arms out towards the ceiling as her companions drained the dregs of the soup cup. "Well," she said, "I took two hours watch last night, so Darcy should take a shift this evening. Unless you need more sleep—" she glanced at Loki—"I think that means I'm off the hook tonight."
He nodded. "I do not require much sleep at all by your standards," he said. "Three hours should more than suffice."
"Good," Jane said. "Then you can take watch until you get tired, and Darcy will cover you until sunrise…or when our Earth sleeping patterns say sunrise should be; I haven't seen daylight the entire time we've been here."
"Wish I'd brought coffee with me," Darcy muttered.
Jane didn't say anything to that. She rose to her feet stiffly and arched her back with a yawn. "I'll take the spot by the wall in the light," she said, already halfway across the cave."
"Guess that leaves me the shadows," Darcy said bleakly.
The two women settled in for the night, arranging their knapsacks as pillows the best they could and peeling off their jackets to use for blankets.
Loki found himself a semi-comfortable spot without too many ridges or pebbles to sit upon. Soon, Jane's goodnights turned to breathing that eventually grew slow and even.
He let his mind wander as he sat there, staring into the fire, listening to the quiet sleeping noises echo through the cave. It wandered to Midgardian literature, his translations earlier as he had led the others trekking through the snow. It wandered to Darcy's terrible poem that scarcely deserved the designation "poem."
Darcy…poem…He could have, he supposed, improvised a come-back poem to persuade her to remain silent for the duration of their journey, but he couldn't think of anything that rhymed with "Darcy." For that matter, why did he even consider the possibility of a comeback—such a juvenile idea—for her silly little poem?
Most importantly, why did he feel as if some part of him didn't really want Darcy to be quiet? Was he really so bored as to need whatever entertainment her insipid commentary might provide?
It wasn't insipid, he chided himself. Darcy could be somewhat shallow at times, and her thoughts did seem rather meandering in contrast to his organized mind, but when it came down to it, she was quite perceptive in her own way. Occasionally, her comments were almost (Loki hated to admit it) clever. No, he told himself hurriedly. Clever was a stretch. Nothing he had heard her say was truly inspired. Amusing was the word he was searching for. Darcy could be funny when she wanted. Smart…well; he would believe it when he saw it.
He realized, after a brief second of blinking vacantly into space, why he felt so strange: he had been staring for the last minute at the subject of his thoughts. Even more uncomfortable, she was staring right back, no expression in her wide blue eyes.
He started abruptly and turned his gaze to the shadows on the wall for a brief second. But he found himself resisting the urge to look fleetingly in her direction the moment he turned away.
Finally, he gave into the impulse and stared into the shadows. Her eyes were still fixed on him. He wasn't quite sure how he could see them—she was in the shadows after all—but somehow they were visible even in the darkness, perhaps some radiant light reaching into the dim side of the cave and reflecting off of her irises like a mirror.
"You should be sleeping," he murmured sternly.
"Can't sleep," she said. The fatigue made her voice softer, higher. "I'm cold."
Loki pressed his lips together into a thin line. "Why didn't you wear a different jacket?"
"You weren't at the store," she said, smiling. "I looked like a big, blue marshmallow wearing those coats."
"Yes." He found his mouth involuntarily mirroring her smile. "But you would have been a comfortable marshmallow."
Darcy laughed quietly. Her giggle turned into a shiver, a frail little shuddering noise that reached into the corners of the cave. She looked up at him as her shaking subsided. She seemed hesitant to ask a question.
"You wouldn't let a spark catch on my clothing if I slept closer to the fire?" she asked.
He gave her a strange look. "Why would I do that?"
She shrugged. "For the hell of it."
He grimaced. "Yes, but just because I can do something doesn't mean I will. Not always, anyway. Letting you catch fire would be entirely counterproductive. Jane would be furious. I'd never get the mortal blood I need. I'd die." He frowned. "It is rather small on this side of the cave, though. It would be crowded."
"Fine," she muttered, getting up quietly. "More body heat."
Loki debated for a moment suggesting an activity that would generate lots of body heat, but decided it was too late for such a comment to be taken as intended: a joke. It was a joke, after all…nothing more.
He was surprised to find Darcy taking a seat right beside him. He looked at her curiously.
"I'm not going to go lie down next to Jane. She snuggles in her sleep." Darcy mock-shuddered in horror. Her fakery quickly turned to a true tremor through her body, rebelling against the cold.
Loki mentally sighed. She would never get any sleep this way. And then he'd have to deal with tired mortals in the morning. With a wave of his hand, he produced a thick woolen cloak and draped it over her shoulders.
She immediately burrowed into its warmth, trying to envelope herself in the cloak. She looked up at him, just a little brunette head poking out of the dark wool. "Not complaining, but I thought you could only do magic on yourself."
"I am," he said simply. He moved his arm around to illustrate, brushing their shoulders together. "You're in contact with me. That makes you an extension of my body, for the purposes of magic. It's why I insist that you and Jane hold on to me when I am travelling. It is far less demanding."
"So as long as I'm touching you, you can keep this cloak on me?"
"That is correct."
She nodded, eyes wide. "Cool."
Loki wasn't sure if it was merely his imagination now that he had called attention to the fact that he was touching Darcy or if she actually moved closer to him in response to his remark, but it felt as if she were leaning against him with her whole side, just an inch too short to comfortably rest her head on his shoulder. He wasn't protesting. It made the magic much easier if she were truly touching him instead of just brushing the tips of their shoulders together.
She didn't say anything for a few minutes, to the point where Loki thought she was asleep. He jumped when a small laugh rang through the cave.
"What?" he said absently.
She smiled, trying to contain her giggles. "Nothing. This cloak is so warm…it's just reminding me of my old electric blanket. My friends broke it doing this dumb prank on our R.A. A couple of them almost got electrocuted."
Loki smiled crookedly. "I'm always eager to hear a good scheme," he said lightly. "What was it?"
"It was completely stupid," she said. "We were trying to get the R.A. fired. She was a total bitch. Like, not just getting upset about parties, but she was throwing a hissy fit whenever people played music after 10 pm, you know, studying and stuff…and this one time, she refused to let me in because I didn't have my ID card with me, even though it was only midnight."
He raised his eyebrow, curious to hear the end of this tale. "What did you do to her?"
"We, uh," Darcy laughed, "we started spreading rumors that our residence hall was haunted. A couple of us started making up stories about stuff moving in our rooms, freaking out about things touching us, you know, Crucible-status. One of the guys had this bright idea to make the plumbing freak out, so he tinkered with the pipes a bit and the faucets kept running and flooding this one bathroom…"
"Setting the scene?"
"Yeah, exactly," she said, nodding. "We got the other floors to co-operate too. They started complaining about hearing noises from our level at night. She didn't buy it. She said she didn't believe in ghosts. So, we," Darcy bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely, "we played the prank."
"What was the prank, exactly?"
"It was winter, right? We had this field right outside, most of the windows had a good view of it. It was just this blanket of snow. So one night, we snuck out, and we brought my electric blanket, and we melted the snow in view from her dorm so it formed the words 'I AM REAL.' The water and the electricity didn't want to mix, so that's where the electrocution almost happened…but we finished the prank. And…" Darcy dissolved into giggles. "And the next morning, we looked outside and screamed, and we called the R.A. over and we realized…we had spelled 'real' wrong. We put the 'a' before the 'e' by mistake in all the chaos."
Loki stared at her for a second, then let out a stifled laugh.
Darcy's hysteria seemed to be fueled by Loki's amusement. "We told her it was a dyslexic ghost. She didn't believe us, but…man, you should have seen her face when she figured out it was us."
Her laughter slowly died down. Eventually, Loki stopped shaking with chuckles too. He noticed distantly that he didn't really think the prank was that funny, but her laughter was infectious. He had difficulty getting rid of his smile—whenever he forced the corners of his lips to turn down, the corners of his eyes rebelled and kept smiling. It should have been aggravating, but strangely, he found he didn't really want to stop smiling. It was quite pleasant, letting himself enjoy the impulse to share an amusing moment, to look at an endearing facial expression and mirror it himself.
They fell silent after that, listening in peace to the fire crackling and the sound of Jane occasionally mumbling something incoherent in her sleep.
"You've probably done better," Darcy said after a few minutes.
He grimaced wryly. "God of mischief. It comes with the territory, so to speak."
"Anything good?"
He considered for a moment that it was probably not necessary to reveal so much about his past to a mere mortal…but what could the harm be? If it filled the silence, provided him with some entertainment…
"Well," he began, "I did visit the United States once in the mid-20th century…"
"…and since then, elaborate and unconventional pranks have been a tradition, a part of the school's heritage."
Loki was surprised by the silence. He hadn't been expecting uproarious laughter…but he was a bit stunned to not get a single giggle out of Darcy. He glanced down at her.
She was asleep on his arm.
He sighed. That would explain it.
What he couldn't explain was why he kept looking at her once he gathered that she was asleep. He had already had a chance to study her. He had obtained the information he needed from that observation session…so why was he still looking at her?
What purpose did it serve to notice that her eyelashes were brushing the tops of her cheekbones gently, or that her hair was falling in her face and that she would probably like it to be tucked behind her ear? For that matter, what did he benefit from letting her sleep on his shoulder, from warming her with magic? Why was he draining himself un-necessarily? She was tired, she would have fallen asleep regardless of the cold.
Why was he turning so soft?
He closed his eyes and turned his face to the ceiling wearily. He had once berated his brother for becoming weak, for acknowledging his attraction to a simple, mortal woman. Yet here he was, warming a human girl with his magic, allowing her to use him as a pillow, resisting the urge to put an arm around her—so she didn't fall over, not because he felt like holding her.
Was he any better than Thor?
He had the strangest feeling in his heart as he leaned his chin upon Darcy's head, close enough to smell her perfume, that he didn't really give a damn what his brother had done. He liked this. He loved…
He sat up sharply, causing Darcy's eyelashes to flutter intriguingly as she darted between sleep and wakefulness. He watched without thinking to make sure that she did not rouse…and then resumed rebuking himself.
No, he said. You do not love anyone. Why should you bother with such a counterproductive emotion? All it does is make things muddy, make decisions hard to make. And why should you devote your heart to another when she does not return your affections? She finds you attractive, the little voice in the back of his head continued. But she thought Thor was good-looking too. You are nothing to her. To her knowledge, you are a monster, a villain, and she may be right. You are not someone that she deserves.
He paused in his internal dialogue. Had he really just acknowledged that she, a mortal, deserved to be treated well, to be loved by someone who wasn't a monster? Why had he done that?
The nay-saying voice in his mind had no answer.
Loki groaned under his breath and resolved to cease such circular reasoning. He would not pursue Darcy because it was counterproductive. It served no practical purpose. It would only get in his way. But for right now, he needed to warm her so she could be well-rested. The faster they reached Jotunheim, the faster he could complete the Thrice Blood spell.
The sooner he would be rid of her.
He stared into the fire, as if hoping that the inferno would burn away the ache that ensued from his thoughts.